


After

by koldtblod



Series: Over The Border [1]
Category: Life Is Strange 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, High Morality, I love Cassidy so much and I will defend her 'til death, I wrote like one fic that was HAPPY and not full of ANGST and now I'm back on my bullshit, I'm so sorry Sean you deserve so much, Parting Ways Ending, Post-Game, Spanish? There was not an attempt., Spoilers, Will not be using Google Translate lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24004348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koldtblod/pseuds/koldtblod
Summary: Sean makes the border. Daniel does not. People keep dropping out of Sean's life, and it's just too much to take.
Relationships: Cassidy/Sean Diaz
Series: Over The Border [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1818205
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	After

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, there are probably plenty out there, but actually I found it difficult to find any fics that dealt with the aftermath of the game, set directly after the Mexican border. Therefore, as usual, I wrote my own!
> 
> This story actually turned out a little differently to what I had in mind, but that's okay. I've enjoyed the journey.
> 
> Please note, I wasn't about to use Google Translate for my Spanish and butcher everything about the language; therefore, _italics_ in speech are most likely not meant to be English. I was able to throw a couple of bits in because my gf speaks broken, high school Spanish - whereas I personally took French. But if any Spanish speaker would like to more accurately translate, then please get in touch!

Freedom tastes like nothing Sean had imagined. In his head, as a part of the tenuous plot he'd been hatching since the moment they left home, he and Daniel were always supposed to cross the border together. They were supposed to go to Puerto Lobos, one way or another, with rucksacks on their back, blisters on their feet, wolf brothers 'till the end. But everything has changed.

One moment, Sean is gripping the steering wheel, knuckles almost white against the black synthetic, and Daniel is beside him. The next, Daniel is crying,

“Don’t turn back for me!”

And flinging himself out of the passenger door.

There is still blood in Sean’s mouth; still grains of sand between his teeth. The adrenaline is so high he feels he might vomit. But he has to keep going. Karen’s old car is faster than he'd imagined, but not as fast as he’d like. Now Sean only hopes he can make it to the coast, away from the cops, away from it all. He's driven almost thirty miles or so since smashing through the border gates, and since then has found it impossible to tell whether it's sweat or tears that he has streaming down his face.

He swerves the car into the first parking lot he sees.

Sean has to ignore the looks of the patrons, the shouts of surprise, as he stumbles into the diner, forgoing the bar, and barricades himself instead into a toilet stall.

He doesn't know for how long he stands, hunched, sobbing into the porcelain. In his ears, Sean can still hear the ringing of police sirens and, when he closes his eyes, see the raw determination on Daniel's face – the scene playing itself out over and over again – before he'd thrown himself into the dust.

Sean had wanted to go back.

Part of him, however stupid, still wants to climb into the car and turn it around; to rescue Daniel from whatever fate he's sealed. But eventually, it's the guilt – and the grief – that prompts Sean to empty his stomach into the toilet, because he knows it's foolish. Because he knows he won't. As far as everyone is concerned, Sean has killed a police officer. He's ran for a year away from the law and knows he'll face many more behind bars if he ever gets caught.

Puerto Lobos used to be a dream. Dad always used to say he'd take Sean and Daniel down to the beach, into the sun with the palm trees and that the sand would scorch the soles of their feet. Sean had believed that one day, all together, they'd make it.

But Dad is dead. And Daniel is in handcuffs, or at a police station, somewhere back beyond the border. Sean knows he has to go it alone if for no other reason than to prove he hasn't forgotten – so that Daniel's sacrifice doesn't go in vain.

To honour Esteban and the journey.

The door to the bathroom opens behind him and then Sean hears a voice.

" _ Hola, hablas Español?" _

__ It belongs to another man. His footsteps move slow and searching across the tiles and there are two gentle bangs, followed by a sigh, as the stall doors on either side of Sean fall open. 

" _ Are you coming out? _ " asks the man.

Sean doesn't think he has it in him to reply. Only now does he realise how numb his knees have grown against the floor and it takes a great amount of effort to force himself to his feet, both mentally as well as physically. Sean has to brace himself against the wall as black spots dance before his eyes and, although there's nothing positive to be said about squatting beside a toilet bowl, he'd much rather curl up there on the floor and sleep for several days than he would face the man outside.

Still, the man makes no sound to indicate his retreat.

Sean wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his sweater. Without really knowing whether he'll vomit again, and unsure as to if he'll meet the stranger's eyes, he takes a final shuddering breath and flushes the toilet behind him.

The man, when he opens the door, gives a slight start.

" _ Ay _ !" he says and as if out of habit holds up a hand in warning.

Sean doesn't blame him.

He's older, perhaps, than Sean's own father had been, by quite a few years, with a fine dusting of dark grey stubble over his cheeks and jaw. His hair is combed flat over his head and he's wearing a bright blue and white striped polo.

Slowly the hand comes down.

" _ Por Dios _ ," he whispers, " _ what's happened to you? _ "

Sean shakes his head. He still doesn't trust himself to speak. The man eyes Sean for a moment longer before clamping his palm over his shoulder and steering him quickly to the sink.

“American?” he asks, deducting at least that Sean is in some kind of shock.

Sean's brain is finding it difficult to string together any coherent thoughts into sentences, in either Spanish or English, and perhaps this is why the man has changed tactic. 

He thinks that Sean can't understand.

Indeed, when Sean braves the mirror, he realises that even he finds it difficult to recognise his reflection. His right eye is rimmed in red, there's blood on the collar of his sweater and more dirt and grime **** plastered to his face and in his hair from the explosion than could have been expected. For all anyone knows, Sean's spent the last five years tunnelling out of a secret underground bunker. He mightn't know any spoken language at all, and yet the stranger is undeterred. He keeps Sean steady with a firm hand on his shoulder and although in truth he might just be intending to keep Sean trapped, to stop him from wriggling away, Sean feels no malice – only warmth – radiating from the man's palm.

He douses himself with cold water and forces a dreary smile of appreciation when he's handed a paper towel.

" _ Si,  _ señor," Sean agrees eventually.

"Ahh," says the man, "you speak after all! Come – you must come – all friendly here.”

Sean’s legs feel like jelly but he allows the man to lead him out of the bathroom. The world around him spins; his ears feel plugged with cotton wool. He hears the man call to the young woman behind the bar, in Spanish, about needing a drink, but can’t register her reply until he’s being forced down onto a barstool and she’s pushing a mug of coffee into his face.

Sean drinks as if compelled. Autopilot kicks in and all Sean can do is stare blankly at the counter, feeling his hand shaking around the mug as he phases in and out of the whispered conversations.

_ “You think he’s crossed the border?” _

_ "Mija, he's only a child." _

_ "He's a teenager!" _

_ “But why would he come here?” _

_ “Family – he must have a family somewhere  _ –  _ " _

_ “Boy says he’s American.” _

_ “Makes no sense to me!” _

_ “Let's not make judgements; we can't be hasty.” _

Sean forces himself to look up. His head feels as if it’ll spilt in two and his throat feels scratched as if by sandpaper, but he manages to hold a steady gaze when he looks towards the gathering at the end of the bar and asks,

" _ Can I use your phone _ ?"

The young woman raises her eyebrows. She mutters something beneath her breath as she moves and returns a moment later with the rotary and wipes her hands on her apron.

“D'you have any money?” she asks.

“Anita!” chides the older man.

“ _ Oh, remember last time?  _ Paying customers only.”

And to illustrate the point, Anita jabs her thumb at a sign behind the bar.

“I can pay,” Sean promises, and she nods.

Her dark eyes narrow but she turns away, and Sean tries not to hear the renewed whispers that commence immediately. He reaches into his pocket. He brings out a handful of change and dashes it onto the counter, alongside a faded bottle cap and the letter from Cassidy.

He doesn’t know whether she’ll answer. He can’t imagine how – if she’s still slumming down, staying low – but he dials the number regardless and waits to hear the tone.

The phone rings, once, twice. A good start. Then, three times. Sean thinks, she isn’t going to answer, but then a voice comes over the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Cassidy?” he asks, even though Sean can already hear – the tone of the girl’s voice, the thick Jersey accent – that it isn’t her.

“Who’s this?”

His heart falls. She’s given the wrong number.

“Hello?” repeats the voice.

But then he hears another in the background; a scuffling; and the voice gets louder.

“Wait! – don’t hang up!–"

_ That _ is Cassidy. Sean almost cries again as she practically throws herself at the phone and the girl who had answered let’s out a grunt of pain and moves away; then Cassidy is breathing fast into the receiver.

“ _ Sean _ !” she cries.

“Cass,” he whimpers.

“I hoped you’d call – fuck, Sean, I’ve  _ waited  _ –"

She takes a breath.

"How are you?"

Sean takes a chance.

“I’ve lost Daniel.”

It fucking stings. He knows the eyes of Anita and the other diners are upon him and they’re still whispering, but Sean has to get it out.

“What?”

“He’s gone, Cassidy; Daniel’s gone.”

“He’s not –"

“Dead? No.” Like burnt toast in his mouth. “But I can't be with him. I made it to Mexico."

Cassidy lets out a strangled groan. “You did?” she says.

“Yeah.” Sean pauses. “Daniel wanted to save me.”

“Oh, Sean...”

Her tone has shifted from one of joy to grief. The silence in the background on the phone now hangs like a death throe and all Sean can hear in the diner is the buzzing of electric lights.

"Are you safe?" Cassidy asks.

Sean doesn't know. He risks a glance towards the end of the bar, where Anita has been working on the same glass with her dishtowel for several minutes, and she looks quickly away.

"Sean," Cassidy whispers again.

"I think," he says. "I've had to stop. Daniel's with the police. They said he’d stay with our grandparents, but..."

"You'll be okay," Cassidy tells him. "I promise, jus' – stay outta the way – keep outta sight. D'you still have a plan?"

"I can't turn back," says Sean.

He hopes that Claire and Stephen will take care of Daniel.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," says Cassidy.

“How’d you know it was me?”

"Sean?"

"On the phone," he says, "when I called."

"Oh," says Cassidy, "You’re the only person to have this number.”

“I miss you,” says Sean. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

Cassidy sighs deeply.

“I’ll come down one day," she says, "jus' not right now – I can't –“

"I know,” says Sean. “I didn’t have anyone else to call.”

He could have called Lyla, but he doubts she’ll understand. Cassidy had been there, seen the extent of Daniel’s powers, knows the damage he can cause. Days spent with Lyla on the bus home from school now seem but a figment of his imagination. He wants to ask, needs to know, if she’s alright but Lyla will think he's crazy. He'd rather she remember the Sean of her childhood, full of spirit and jokes and laughter, instead of the husk of a person he's become.

"I'll keep my ears open," says Cassidy, into the silence, "about Daniel, in case I hear anythin', and I'll let you know."

"Thanks," says Sean. "I gotta go."

"Please be safe."

"I will," he says. "I'll call again."

Sean places the phone back on the hook. He stares at the circle of numbers and the flare with which Cassidy had signed her name on the letter, and wants immediately to call her back. But he has nothing to say. He brings his wallet out of his pocket and slides the phone back across the bar. Unfortunately, in all of this, Sean hadn't thought –

“Dollars?” asks Anita.

They must see it all the time.

“Hold on,” says the man. He climbs back out of his seat. “Let him be,  _ Mija _ . I’ll pay for this.”

"No," says Sean, "I have the money –"

"You must go," he says. He claps Sean again on the shoulder. “Clean up, take care.”

"Papa," begins Anita.

But he waves her off.

"If you need to stop by again," says the man, "you know where we are."

Sean feels the bubble of emotions rise in his throat and swallows quickly in case vomit follows. He mumbles a sombre thank you and stuffs his belongings back into his pocket, stumbles out into the sunshine and over to the car. He knows that the eyes of the patrons follow him through the window as he bundles himself inside but Sean can't look back. He needs to get moving. He's determined to put his foot back to the pedal and put further distance between himself and the border, before another wave of nausea can consume him and the tears start up anew.

That night he drives until he can barely see.

Sean keeps the radio off and Daniel's bag close to his side. He sleeps in the back seat beneath the sleeping bag from Bear Station and dreams in fragments of broken light, explosions and police sirens; of tree trunks being ripped from the ground. Morning dawns suddenly when Sean is jolted awake by a gunshot. He spends ten minutes reassuring himself that it's all in his head, before he's able to emerge and climb back behind the wheel, pull out the map, and keep heading south.

He buys a pack of cigarettes from a store in the next town over.

He drives, he smokes, he doesn't eat for four days.

On the fifth night, he checks into a motel and slides the dresser up against the door. It's fair to say that Sean is more paranoid than he’s been in months.

He should be safe.

He's made it to Mexico.

The events of the border seem to hover nevertheless always in his peripheral vision, right over his shoulder, and Sean thinks more often than not in the evenings, when the light starts to wane and the sun dips below the horizon, that the shadows creeping towards him on the ground are going to snatch him up and smother him in darkness. The more attention Sean tries to focus elsewhere, the more pressing the shadows become. They begin to form more clearly the outlines of strange men, and once or twice Sean even imagines he sees Daniel amongst them.

The nightmares continue. He dreams again and again of his father's dead body and doesn't consider, even for a moment, to blame the cruel delirium he suffers on either his lack of sustenance or any type of self-care. Instead, Sean drives in circles, becoming completely lost, and the journey itself down to Puerto Lobos (which at most, should have taken several hours) extends for over a week.

Sean only really pulls himself together when a lady with a pram gives him a fearful look and instantly turns back out of the aisle, when he's stopped at a store somewhere too far south, to buy a bottle of water. Sean forces himself to pick up a sandwich, fills up on petrol, and cleans up best he can in the toilets before building the confidence to ask for directions. 

At least his arrival finally in Puetro Lobos brings with it a sort of reprise from his miserable existence.

However late, the sun is shining. Sean is running on little more than fumes but the beach can be seen from the highway and, although his father’s old house is derelict and very run down when he reaches it, Sean passes a garage on route with a sign up in their window:

_ 'Recruitment mechanics wanted.' _

He spends another night in the backseat of the car, washes head to toe in the ocean the next morning, and takes himself down.

The opportunity is everything that Esteban had wanted for him. Sean tries not to let it cut too deeply.

He knows he looks awful. He's got dark circles on top of dark circles; he's more skin and bone than flesh. Still, he has to try and approaches the owner – an aged, withered old man – and his son Francisco who’s twice Sean’s size and looks tough enough to break a man’s legs. He's only so lucky that the Spanish pays off.

Sean starts the job, on penance pay, and by the end of the month has scraped up enough money to have an engineer come by and fix the electricity in Esteban’s house. Sean makes do with a hope and a prayer; mends what little he can around the place and soon enough he’s sleeping back in a real bed, with a working fridge, and an old television set that occasionally flickers to life – when the aerial is set in just the right place. He even buys a new phone, albeit secondhand from Francisco, and inserts Lyla’s number into the contacts by heart and then Cassidy’s, from the crumpled letter he’s tacked to his wall.

This time, when he dials the number, there’s no answer on the other end. The line goes dead, doesn’t even ring and Sean has another breakdown that evening in the pits of his bed, crying like a child into the mattress until he’s dizzy, until the house grows dark around him.

Cassidy is gone.

That's when he knows he's waited too long.

Everyone he’s ever known – starting with his Dad – has dropped uncontrollably out of his life and Sean, down in Mexico, is all by himself.

His voice is hoarse with smoke the next morning when he goes to work. He dumps the empty boxes of cigarettes into the trash outside the garage, and shrugs Francisco’s concerned hand away from his shoulder when he fails to answer the question,

_ "Hey, are you alright?" _

Francisco and his father are friendly enough, but they'll never understand. Sean will never tell them exactly how he’s wound up here, at the end of the tracks, and that afternoon he swindles a bottle of whiskey from the store. What is originally meant to calm his nerves sets Sean off into another bout of paranoia, sends him deeper into the wormhole, and really only serves to intensify his misery. His 17th birthday passes without occasion, and he begins to mark the days that follow with hangovers instead of hours.

But Francisco takes pity.

" _ My man _ ," he says, the following weekend, when he and Sean are slinging their tools back into their boxes and Sean is nursing yet another headache, " _ you need to get out more, see the world, you know? _ "

" _ I know, _ " says Sean.

He's seen enough of the world, he thinks. But he leaves out that part of the story.

" _ I'm having a party, _ " says Francisco, " _ down at the beach tomorrow night, why don't you come? Meet some girls, make some friends. _ "

"Yeah," says Sean, " _ I'll think about it, maybe _ ."

" _ Maybe _ ?" snorts Francisco. " _ No, Sean, you'll be there. _ "

" _ Okay, _ " he says, " _ I will. _ "

And Francisco laughs and wraps his arm around Sean's neck. It's difficult all the while not to think of Daniel, because Francisco takes to Sean like any older brother. He even offers to take him shopping – to show him the places to buy new clothes, and funk up his style, instead of lurking around in the same old sweatshirt, same old jeans, that Sean's worn for the past year and are now covered in motor oil.

Reluctantly, and despite the pang it accompanies, Sean agrees.

He wanders down to find the BBQ, and the fire pit, at the other end of the beach on Saturday evening, dressed in faded denim shorts and a t-shirt more colourful than anything he'd wear back in Seattle. Francisco says he looks cool but that he could use a haircut. Again, Sean pushes away the memories and inserts himself into a conversation with Francisco’s cousin, Silvia, who asks not about his parents – his friends – his backstory – but instead about sports. He manages to maintain a conversation centred around baseball when she says she follows the games.

Always Sean's fingers are twitching towards the bottle of whiskey that's nestled in the sand, a few feet from the fire, as if he thinks he needs it for emotional support. There's a word for that, Sean knows – dependant. Or alcoholic.

Sean can't let himself believe it's really that serious.

Silvia shakes his wrist, bringing him back to the present.

" _ What's wrong, aren't you having fun? _ "

" _ No _ ," says Sean, " _ I am. I promise. _ "

And he really tries to convince himself.

The sun sets and the sky turns pink, then red; then a deep mauve before the darkness swallows it up, and Sean can no longer see the waves lapping at the shore. He can hear them still, amongst the chatter. He can see the lights flicker on inside the houses in the distance, as he stares along the beachfront. It’s a quarter to ten when he next looks up, subsequently and notices the figure standing silhouetted on top of the dunes. A cherry tip glows at the end of a cigarette.

" _ Look out _ ," shouts Francisco, to one of the boys, as he follows Sean's gaze. " _ Is that Gabriela arriving at last _ ?"

Sean stands up. He can't help but be hopeful.

He recognises the gait of the walk, the slope of the shoulders; thinks, at a glance, he recognises the shape of the bag slung over the back and suddenly his heart is leaping.

"Cassidy?" he cries.

The figure looks around; has heard his voice on the wind.

Francisco calls after him, but Sean is already running. The cherry tip disappears. It's flung to the ground and the figure hurries, too, down the side of the dunes. There's a wild moment, a fraction of a second, where Sean imagines they'll meet and it isn't Cassidy at all, but then her dreadlocks are all he can see and she flings herself into Sean's arms.

"My God," he whines, "fuck, Cas, it's really you!"

"Sean," she whispers, "you're here!"

And Sean realises he's trembling, terrified of letting go.

Cassidy smells like smoke and pot; like heat and coconut and sweat and dirt all mixed up into one and likely always has, though Sean had failed to notice. Her arms are warm through her jacket around his shoulders and Sean presses his face more tightly into her neck to stabilise his belief before Cassidy finally pulls away.

"Oh," she coos, "now are you cryin'?"

Sean has to laugh.

"Shit, your eye–" she says.

He brushes her hand away and holds it instead by his side.

"It's nothing," he lies, "it's fine."

Nothing, he thinks, now that she's here. Sean feels as if he hardly knows Cassidy, but seeing her face again after all this time, after being so alone and abandoned, feels like the second coming.

"I tried to call," he tells her, "a week or so back, but the phone–"

"–was dead," she says. "I know, I'm sorry. I left the others in Colorado and set off down here, but you know a battery don't last forever and – I guess I kinda run outta luck."

Sean nods. He can't look away from Cassidy's face.

She smiles, a little brusquely, and says, "Hannah and Penny said I should find you. They needed to stay, but – shit, I needed to move. It's so good to see you."

"Did you find anyone new?" asks Sean.

"A girl," says Cassidy, "called Liberty Rebel – yeah, I know, don't laugh!"

"Liberty?"

"First name," says Cassidy, "but enough!"

Francisco has appeared behind them, with a gaggle of other friends and Silvia in the forefront.

" _ Sean _ ," he calls, " _ who's your girlfriend? _ "

Cassidy keeps up with as much as possible, as much as she's able on a few phrases of Spanish. She tells them her name, with terrible pronunciation, and nods along to the questions that Sean answers for her before finally he turns, and asks,

"D'you wanna get outta here?"

They bid their goodbyes.

" _ Buenas noches _ !" Cassidy calls, and there are peels of laughter that she takes no offence to, already skipping merrily ahead over the sand.

Sean catches up, after blushing when Francisco presses a condom into his palm.

" _ For later _ ," he says and pats Sean's cheek. " _ You'll need it more than I. _ "

It's been so long – weeks, if not months – since Sean has thought of anything like that. But he pockets it discreetly, watching Cassidy's dreadlocks dance ahead in the darkness and thinks, shyly, maybe tonight.

"So this is the place," says Cassidy, when they approach the house, "that you talked about in California."

Sean has to shimmy the lock.

"Gimme a second," he says.

And flips on the light. Cassidy's face glows with sunburn under the fluorescence and she grins ever wider when she meets his eye.

Suddenly, Sean's embarrassed, by the condition he's left the house in. There are cigarette packets strewn across the tables; plates piled high in the sink where he'd yet to find the energy to clean them. The bottle of whiskey lies empty beside his bed, his socks are falling out of the laundry and the flypaper over the trash can in the kitchen is still twitching with bluebottles.

Cassidy doesn't seem to mind.

"You can take the bed," Sean suggests, with a grimace. "Or even the sofa is a little cleaner, you know..."

"Hmm," says Cassidy.

She's staring around at the empty walls and bookcase.

"You could totally fill this place with art, y'know; tag the walls and stuff to settle in."

"I've been busy," says Sean, "I guess."

He doesn't want to tell her that he's spent the last several nights drinking and smoking himself into oblivion but luckily for him, Cassidy doesn't seem interested in the evidence either. She sets her bag and guitar in toe down beside the sofa and swipes a thin layer of dust from the television with her forefinger.

"So," she says, turning back, "you look like you could use a de-stress."

Cassidy brings a baggie out of her pocket and throws it to Sean for him to catch.

"Now please tell me you have a shower, and preferably hot water."

"Both," says Sean, and shows her to the bathroom.

He sits on the sofa, after disposing of the flypaper, and listens to the jet of the water against the tiled wall and Cassidy's muted, lilted humming. He rolls them a joint that's big enough to share and changes into sweat pants before pacing back and forth instead around the room.

Sean feels guilty, not for the first time, about not chasing up with Lyla.

Then Cassidy appears back in the doorway and her appearance startles him out of his worry.

"Oh," he says, "d'you... want some pants?"

"I'll be okay," she says, with a smile, and waltzes over to the sofa in nought but one of Sean's t-shirts and a pair of socks. "Have you rolled?" she asks.

Sean brings the ashtray. He settles awkwardly beside her and, to the best of his ability, tries to avoid hitting Cassidy's bare legs with any part of his as they take turns.

"You can tell me about Mexico," Cassidy says, through a lungful of smoke, "and about gettin' here, but not tonight if that's okay?"

"I'd like to hear you play," Sean tells her, with a nod to the guitar.

"I've been workin' on new stuff," she says. "D'you wanna hear?"

Sean nods. Cassidy passes him the joint after taking a final drag. When she settles again with the guitar on her lap, crossed-legged on the floor in front of Sean, her tune starts slow and melancholic.

He watches her fingers glide gently across the strings.

"' _ If you dance, I'll dance _ ,'" Cassidy sings, "' _ and if you don't, I'll dance anyway _ .  _ Give peace a chance, let the fear you have fall away.' _ "

Her voice is quiet and soulful. Sean had loved to sit and listen, back when they were all together.

"' _ I've got my eye on you.' _ "

It feels a thousand years ago. Still, Sean can picture the scene beside the campfire in California – Daniel by his side, with Finn and Jacob, Hannah and Penny. If he tries, Sean can even smell the bark on the trees, the sweetness of the leaves, and hear the crackle of wood in the air.

And Cassidy sings,

" _ Say yes to heaven, _

_ Say yes to me. _ "

The night by the lake had been a slice of heaven, he thinks, for a singular hour before reality crashed. Cassidy had given Sean the tattoo and kissed him beneath the night sky, under only the gaze of the moon; she'd placed his hands so gently on her hips and gasped into Sean's mouth when he first pushed into her. Then how she'd raged, upon emerging, after that at their loss – not only of Finn, but of Daniel too. The most difficult part to forget is Merrill's face – the anger and austerity behind his eyes when he'd pointed the gun. Sean still feels the shudder as it fires and the bullet smashes through Daniel's shoulder, and he looks suddenly towards the window.

Almost Sean is convinced that he's seen a flash of light to accompany. He thinks he's heard the gunshot right outside the door and Cassidy, following his gaze, immediately stops her thrumming.

"Sean?" she asks.

He doesn't know whether he's imagined it. Sean stubs the end of the joint out in the ashtray and clambers to his feet, approaching the window with caution until he's close enough to peak out. 

The street is quiet.

A small tabby cat is making its way stealthily along the neighbour's fence.

The hair on Sean's forearms is standing on edge and although there's no one around, Sean knows he'll feel better if he snaps the blinds closed.

Cassidy, behind, sets the guitar gently on the floor.

"Sean..." she says again.

He turns around. He must be white as a ghost.

Cassidy hesitates only for a second before coming forwards to take him in her arms.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, "was it somethin' I said?"

"No," says Sean, "I don't know –"

Cassidy bites her lip. Her cheeks have blossomed with freckles in the sunshine and Sean wants nothing more than to be back around the campfire, laughing with their friends and his little brother once again, instead of hearing the raw in Cassidy's voice and seeing the worry creep into her face.

"I have nightmares," Sean mumbles.

It comes out of nowhere.

"I can't tell what's real, and what's in my mind."

He isn't expecting Cassidy to blink away tears. She stretches up to hide them and kisses him softly on the mouth, but Sean feels the damp against her cheeks regardless. He circles his arms around Cassidy's waist and tries not to chase when she moves away.

"I shouldn't be here," she murmurs, and pulls from Sean's embrace with surprising strength. "Shoulda left you to get on with it, 'stead of dragging up the past–"

"Cassidy," says Sean.

"Shit, I don't do this – I've ruined everythin', y'know –"

Sean raises his voice. Cassidy's name echoes around the room. She stops in her tracks and slowly lets her bag slip back from her shoulder onto the floor.

"Don't," says Sean. "Stay," he pleads.

There must be something in his voice.

He wants to forget the time that's passed.

If Cassidy has any other intention of leaving, she definitely doesn't show it. Sean crosses the room and Cassidy meets his eye. This time, when she turns, she greets Sean's mouth with a different type of fervour. She pushes his hands down onto her thighs, before wrapping her arms close around his neck and Sean only realises they've staggered across the carpet when Cassidy's knees hit his bed and they tumble into the sheets. It's difficult to pretend that, in the previous nights, Sean hasn’t spent his time here drinking because the pillows smell like whiskey, but Cassidy's skin holds remnants of the sandalwood soap in Sean's bathroom and that's good enough for him.

Cassidy pulls at his t-shirt.

Sean reaches for the pocket of the shorts he'd discarded earlier.

Later, in the aftermath, when they're tangled naked limb on limb around each other's bodies, Cassidy presses a shaky kiss to the top of his head.

“I’d give anythin’ for you to be happy, Sean.”

“I am,” he says. “Right now I'm happy.”

“And tomorrow?”

“It depends,” he tells her. “The world’s got a funny way of showing it loves me, at the moment.”

“You seem to fit in.”

Cassidy sits up. Sean still can’t help but avoid her bare chest and looks politely away. 

“Hey,” she giggles, poking at his ribs, “don’t you wanna see, huh?”

“I have!” says Sean, but he’s blushing again and he knows it. Cassidy’s giggles grow louder as he writhes against her tickling. “I do,” he says, and lunges to kiss her again.

Cassidy’s laughter dissolves into a whisper of satisfaction against his lips.

They stay together all night, barely sleeping, mostly talking, and Cassidy gets up a little after midnight to make them drinks and roll another joint. Sean watches as she does that – forcing himself, as she moves around in the dark, to capture the image of Cassidy's bare back and legs in his mind, so that tomorrow he might draw it and always have a part of her with him. Sean dreams, when they finally fall asleep, that night for the first time, not about gunshots and sirens but of the still lake water and crickets in the brush. He lets himself be kissed awake late the next morning, and tries not to shy when Cassidy guides his hands between her legs.

Sean knows he's finally done something right when Cassidy's fingers tighten painfully in his hair, and her words become little more than garbled moans against the crook of his neck when her body shakes around him.

He's scared to ask for how long she’ll stay.

Maybe it's best for Sean not to know at all.

Cassidy will filter in and out of his life like sunlight through the trees, but Sean hopes he'll see more than the rainy days and tries to push the thoughts from his mind as he climbs out of bed, and sets to making the coffee. When they talk about Daniel, out on the porch overlooking the ocean, Cassidy says she’s heard through friends of friends that the end wasn’t without a trial, and the police had advised they’d continue the search for Sean if ever he ventured back over the border.

Maybe Karen can come down to see him, thinks Sean, or maybe not.

“I’m not even sure if  _ this _ is legal,” says Cassidy, “in America, but then again...” She laughs. “When have I cared!”

“You’ve slept with a fugitive,” Sean tells her, and nudges her ribs with his elbow. “How’s that make you feel?”

“Better,” says Cassidy, "than it should."

And she cracks open a can of beer.

She hangs around for a couple more weeks. She takes walks along the beach when Sean is at work and sometimes stops by with sandwiches that they sit and eat outside. Francisco jokes about her haircut; teases Sean about the new lovebites that emerge regularly on side of his neck. He teaches Cassidy a little more of the language, with Sean acting as translator, and both Francisco and Cassidy seem to delight in her ability to pick up some of the more vulgar phrases.

By the end of her stay, Sean gets to thinking that he’s in love with her.

He'll never say it. If Cassidy feels the same, she also keeps it close to her heart and shows him more obscurely with the patches she makes and sews into the pockets of his jacket. She leaves the following morning before dawn, without wishing her goodbyes, but leaves a note for Sean to find beside the fridge that says,

_ 'Thinking of you always, _

_ With love, _

_ Cassidy.' _

Sean tacks it up beside his bed with the other letters.

Freedom isn’t what he’d imagined, but if he's lucky Sean knows he’ll make it through. If Daniel is safe, if Karen is happy, if Cassidy can keep up her visits and somewhere, out there, Finn and Jacob and the others are making tracks, Sean thinks he might just be okay. 

He begins writing letters – addresses them, almost, to everyone, even to the people he stands no chance of contacting. A dozen, to his dad, are headed with stamps but stored immediately instead in a box beneath his bed. The one to Daniel, almost three months after the split, is sent with a prayer to Claire and Stephen.

To Lyla, Sean sends only apologies.

Finally, on the anniversary of the party and of Esteban's death, an entire year later, he decides to stop smoking. He stubs the last cigarette out in the sand beneath his boot and stares at the ocean, feeling the breeze caress the bare skin on his arms. It's difficult, because Sean's soul is aching, inside out, back to front, upside down, but he cups his hands around his mouth.

Sean hopes that Daniel hears the wolf cry as it carries across the beachfront, wherever he is, in whatever form.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Sean Diaz with every fibre of my being.
> 
> The song Cassidy sings is [_Yes To Heaven_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yvZN8OaPMKk) by Lana Del Rey (unreleased collection) because big mood.  
>   
> As usual, I made a writing playlist: [Here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1kSyJ9wqJNHIew6509XqaI?si=R5UMCoz6SqOsRUiix_i39A)  
>   
> And, as one final note, whilst I know Sean (and Daniel) set up their own repair shop in the garage in Blood Brothers, and possibly other endings Idk, the Parting Ways ending was ambiguous enough to give me free reign. I needed him to pick up Esteban's trade, but also earn enough to pay some bills.


End file.
